The Road of Life
by SelfcreatedCharacter
Summary: In life, people are all individuals. Each with their own personalities, games, sizes, color, and so on. The experience of being alive is not only about the good things but all the endless horrible events that ends up being just a memory. Will it be always like that?
1. Road One

**Disclaimer: SelfcreatedCharacter does not own even a cent to Toradora.**

**Reminder for readers before they start reading, this piece is based on Takasu Ryuuji but it is also not canon. So if it does not applease you, hit the back button.**

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><p><strong>Takasu Ryuuji: The Fatherless Child<strong>

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><p>I had been called several names. Most which I hardly care about and some that I would not deny, but never had I ever been slandered for not having a father. It's funny because the first time I realize that I don't have two sets of parents, I brushed it off. I did not even ask about what a father was or where my father was.<p>

What does it feel to have a father? What is it like to receive another parent's love? I don't know. I never received my father's love or attention, much less met him in person. My father, I always been told by my mother, was an amazing cook. He met my mother during their high school years and was quite good friends with my uncle and his buddies. My father, in every way, seemed like a good guy.

The first time, I genuinely thought of my father was during my younger school years; the third grade. At that time, I became familiar with the holiday, Father's Day. I was perplexed at such a holiday and when I asked my teacher what would I do with my project when I don't have a father to give it to. She paused, stared at me as if trying to look into the depth of my innocent heart and suggested to give it to an uncle. Being naïve at the time, I smile and went back to work, this time for my uncle. After that, I forgot about Father's Day.

By fourth grade, I never thought of a male figure it my life. My grandfather counted as not such a thing. He's my grandfather, not my father. I became acquainted with several new elements of the world. I learned new words and began playing an instrument, the violin. I made friends kind of like honey to a bee. There was a kindred connection between them and me, yet when conversations came about parents. I never brought mine up unless asked directly to which I answer, "I live with my mother." That sole statement brought both silence to the understanding ones and questions to the curious ones. They tended to shift the conversation afterwards.

I must say the first parent conference I went with my mother was during the fifth grade. Weeks before the parent conference, the teacher has encouraged us to come with our parents. I told my mother of the event and she schedule to attend. Time and time, there were school activities that I wanted to attend with my mother but could not for she was a busy person. I had never disagreed with my mother's agenda for she has always been very preoccupied with work. I'm used to her schedule for she has always done this. Other times I attended alone and spotted some familiar faces with another that resembles theirs; their parents. I tended to avoid them because I feel like I am intruding in. So I laughed at their antics and continued onto another fun activity.

Making my mother cry was one of the last things on my checklist, but I had done it. I was crying, on occasions when my emotions are too rough for me to handle I breakdown and cry. I can usually control it to a minimum so that the people living with me would never have to see me like that. Just… I can't comprehend why I even started crying and before it came to me; my mother was confused and distraught. Each time she asked me what's wrong I could not come up with an answer and I uttered something that caused my mother to hug me closer to her. That cracked the last control on the lid and tears were a never ending flood on my face and on my mother's face, I noticed. She consoled me but I continued to cry. I could help but cry because of what she said, "It's alright. You have a father out here but he's not going to be with us anymore. It's alright; mommy will make sure that you will be alright. Okay?"

I made sure never to ever think about such a useless thing as a father. Frankly, now I feel quite relieved he left us. I don't ever want to mention my father or having a father to anyone. He was crease to exist in my life. I. Don't. Have. A. Father. Period. I have never consoled with my school before so middle school had surprised me. Again, it was like elementary only with separate kids and a different schedule. I liked Physical Education back in elementary, but here in middle school, I started to lose my liking for it. During my three years at middle school, I have learned that I have asthma, a delicate body and the worst capability with endurance. When days came for running all period, I began having episodes of fainting and being brought to the nurse. I did not want to create any trouble for my mother, but time and time it kept happening. The nurse went into doctor mode and asked the typical questions of did I eat and what did I eat. Then she switched to psychiatry mode and asked about my father. I faltered and tears stained my eyes. It did not help that the nurse was encouraging me to let it all out.

High school… aah. Being to personal can be gossip material and that would be a problem. I have come to terms with my feelings concerning my father. Though regardless of the circumstances, he's a stupid man for leaving my mother. I will never forgive him for that and if I ever see him, the first thing I would do is beat him to a pulp. Then I would talk to him and maybe if I think he deserves it, I would say, "It's nice to finally meet you, Old man."

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><p><strong>Song play list:<strong>

**Bird by Yuya Matsushita**

**Aozora by Lia**

**Ichiban no Takaramono by GirlsDeadMonster**

**Euterpe by EGOIST**

**"Musician" (Tsunaida te Ni kiss Wo) by Sanae Kobayashi**


	2. Road Two

**Reminder: The one-shots range from short to long fanfics. Ami fit this piece more than Minorin, so here it is.**

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><p><strong>Kawashima Ami: The Childish Lady<strong>

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><p>I don't want to grow up, simply because being a child is the most fascinating thing in the world. There are no responsibilities on one's shoulders. One can play and laugh about anything and everything without thoughts of discrimination or distaste or lies. The sad reality to that never-ending dream is that one does grow up and obligations are placed on people. All the fun and games to childhood is replaced with work and stress as adulthood comes in.<p>

My childhood was such a flicker thing to remember but there are certain scenes I remember, like one time as a child when I wanted to have responsibilities. I tried to do the labor work others were paid to do by my role model. I was a curious child. I wanted to know the unknown. The task was simple; I have to carry a pail of water back and forth the distance between my home and the reservoir. When I gripped the bucket filled with water, I stumbled. I had to use both my hands and resorted to crab walking. The other laborers walked faster than me with ease and carried more pails than I had. By the time I got to my home, I was scolded to leave labor work to those who were paid to do it. I glanced down at my hands; there were a bright scarlet color. I never wanted to ever do heavy lifting ever again.

As an adolescent, I realized I was the following: a clueless fool to society, a curious little kitty, a spoiled princess, a delicate flower, a porcelain vase, a fragile doll, a brittle child who had everything and nothing all at the same time. As an adult, I realized my health constantly failed me and my body is overly sensitive. I cannot stand this; I want to revert back to being that little monster that could have everyone bow before her.

I had the looks and the status as a child, but it is definitely different as an adult. The significance of what I have became prompt to me when I glanced around my classroom as a middle school student. I felt misplaced like I did not belong there. I wear clothes that my friends could not even wear or buy from the store. I had designer clothes and I was just me; artistic, expressive, sadistic, childish, entertaining, sarcastic, hypocritical- me.

That middle school girl is still in here; only in the body of a mature, semi-social, apathetic, pretender who is living high school at the moment. She has been given luxury and obligations, a two-sided coin that governs her life. I do not want responsibilities or learn about the two faces that the world has. I do not want to grow old and frail than I already am. I do not want to grow up because all I ever wish will continue to be in my Golden Age; my child-like self back in my soul.

Reality is such a nuisance. Dreams are aspirations that one may bring to existence, like becoming a celebrity or curing new diseases as a doctor. My life is barely beginning and I haven't had the slightest clue to what I want as an adult nevertheless it's still my learning stage. I have time to be that little monster and terrorize others. I have time to be a damsel in distress (though I fake it). I have time to be that student that experiences the heart and soul of life. Most of all, I have time to be me.

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><p><strong>Replies~! ;) Since some are not using their accounts. L:<strong>

**Timeless Illusion**: _Glad to know you became speechless. -\ \ \- You like Ryuuji's one-shot..._

**o . crosara** : _Aww~ You like the story. DX Each piece is a one-shot, although there's a chance of a sequel for any of the following. For some reason, each time your pen name was typed together it would get erased. _

**Rinako**: _Cheers! __;}_


	3. Road Three

**Kushieda Minori: The Broken Teenager**

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><p><strong>*SMASH*<strong>

"What are you doing?!"

_Like what you asked me to._

***CLATTER***

"Are you listening to me?!"

_I am._

***SMACK***

"You think you could live without me?"

_Who knows?_

***BANG***

"What can you do? Huh? Answer me!"

_I don't have the qualifications to say so._

***TWACK***

"You are just a mere child! A useless thing that cannot do anything with me!"

_Yeah, of course. I am a "child" in your eyes, but God, I could do things without you._

***PULL***

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

_Why do I need to look at you when you're just pushing your anger to me? What did I even do?_

***TWIST***

"Are you paying attention?! Huh?"

_I am. I'm just sick of always hearing you lecture me with your "torturous love."_

***THUMP***

"You think you could live without me? You think you could get a job and survive into the world? Ah? Do you?"

_I might not. I don't mind dying though. I don't like this world anyways. Survival to the fittest, hah. Why not kill me? _

"**CLANK***

"Well, answer me! I had enough of your rebellious attitude, so don't you dare give me that look!"

_I have been threatened enough with your words and actions. I can't comprehend the look you're talking about… my face is blank. There's no emotion on it and there's no reactions to your words other than dead silence and my untouchable heart._

In my life, I am always blamed and ridiculed for events that I had no connection to. It was all simply because I was an "easy target." I am still in my process of growing and it became the perfect reason to taunt, criticize and accuse me for every mistake and failure I made. Nevertheless. No matter how many times I have encountered these incidents I could never find enough anguish, sadness, anger, frustration or annoyance to scream out and say, "It's not my fault. What's wrong with making mistakes?"

Was it wrong to want to say your deepest feelings? Was it wrong to prove someone did something bad? Was it wrong to protect myself by using silence and truthful harsh words? Since that's all I can do… to keep others from being too close and not making blunders. I have to be able to stand without anyone's help. I have to be someone who can survive on their own. I have to be someone who will never be happy for themselves.

No matter how many times I say that, "It's not me." No one will listen. Nobody will attest to it and I am tired… Just so, so, so tired of trying to prove those who blame me wrong. It's unfair; I know and my friends know, but the "me" they're together with appears as a strong, determined, egoistic, sadistic female who laughs at what people call her. However, she's weak, introverted, defenseless and brittle from it all. A façade made to secure the thin line between friends who are truly and dead-honest friends to friends who are enemies aiming to ruin me.

If I trust someone does that mean that they trust me too? Even now, I don't believe those words. I can't believe them because time and time again, I been betrayed and left behind. It became natural for me to not reach for anyone's hand or expect anyone to offer their trust- their friendship to me. I learned to shut away my own personal feelings towards all those surrounding me and I felt that it did me good. I don't have to worry about betrayal or waiting to become a friend. Not anymore like when I was in fourth grade where I was sitting next to whom I assumed was my friend. She was a bit on the chubby side and had an accent but I felt that we could get along… That wasn't the case, one time we had to turn in our homework, I placed mine on our desk and searched through my bag pack for a pencil. Then I looked back on the desk and my paper was gone. I asked her and she said she did not even see my homework. Instead she had "her" homework sheet, an eraser and a black marker. The paper definitely was my paper because why would my homework disappear and hers magically appear from under the desk? That was just some crazy logic. I asked to look at her paper and she vehemently declined. She soon wrote her name on the paper and passed it. I saw the writing on the paper; it was pencil and this girl sitting next to me always, _always_ writes in pen. I was not making accusations but that writing on the paper was definitely mine. I never even mention the event to our teacher. There was no use crying over spilt milk. From then on, I kept my paper close and never let anyone copy or steal it from me. If you get use why not use them first?

I live alone and work a part-time job. I requested to have my own place away from my relatives since long before they never noticed when danger occurs to me unless it's right before their eyes. They never noticed how hard I tried or how difficult it was for me to learn something. They never had known how much I waited and wanted their praises. I'm alright being alone and I can live on. I don't have to hear my parents get mad or my peers sigh. I'll be safe and sound without anyone's help at the moment. So I wish with all my broken and tattered soul to be just me.


	4. Road Four

**Kitamura Yusaku: The Tangled Male**

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><p>Dear, my Entitled-Self (virtually ahead in time)<p>

I am currently experiencing the early lane of the road. My remorse, guilt, sorrow, annoyance and despise has piled up too much to erase, too much to complain about, too much to say anything of, too much to cry about- too much for me to handle.

I am but an ignorant child who cannot understand the meaning of Life. Surely, this incompetent beating heart of mine has experienced portions of it. Yet, who am I to know what an experience is than a memory? My memory is an eclipse in time. There would be times where I do not remember and times I wished to have. The memory is but a short vision of what can happen and be recorded like a video camera.

Therefore, I say my existence is nothing but a lie.

I know the red blood that flows into me and the oxygen I inhale is but a fragrance of Earth along with the DNA of two people. The people I met are just moving, breathing, talking apparitions. The words I hear belong to anyone and no one. The visions I see are illusions of the senses. The brain brings forth the imagination and conducts the maintenance of all the senses can absorb.

Emotions are lucid and expresses the individuality of a person. Nevertheless, that sense of individuality tends to overlap with others. My individuality is gone; it is taken by all of those around me, absorbed by them and transformed into theirs.

Do I even exist? I do not know why I exist or what my reason for being alive is. That does not change the fact I feel fake. This body of mine is anything but mine. Surely I could process thought, move and project like those apparitions, but that makes me seem even more plastic. I cannot seem to accept the thoughts of life, yet I have such contradictory actions.

I am a hypocrite. I wish, want, hope and desire the many ties I have on this Earth to never leave my side, to never change. However, I know that forever is not preserved. These nice things will leave my side. For example, my favorite things disappear beneath my grasp. My scarce comrades linger between the line of adoration and detest, of truth and lie, of reality and illusion.

Surely, any ill-fated child would gladly trade their sorrowful past, their grotesque present and unmeasured future for mine. Who could not? Who would not? I am unbelievably blessed with family, money, food, clothes and a roof over my head. For that same reason, when I see another whose fate is inevitably polar opposite to my own, I have the urge, the hunger, the temptation to switch lives with them. This is Jealousy. Those people have something I could never dream of having, much less experiencing.

Why is it that all I say come to life? Why is it that I have this foreboding sense of premonition? Why is it that I lack the sense of belonging? Why is it that I do not feel human? Why is it that I cannot help but be a phantom? Why is that I feel that I must die? Most of all, when I accept the concept of death, others die before me instead.

Maybe it is because I never really had the attention I deserved. Probably because there are various new things I am currently experiencing. Inevitably, I do not have an answer.

I wonder, is it because I have wished it, that all which connect to me are faced with misfortune? I wonder that if someone knew this, would they be surprised and brush off my apathetic voice? Would they leave me like the rest of my favorite things? Would they blame me? Would they cry for their mistakes? Would they even notice that I was suffering?

I have visualized various scenarios where I face disastrous perils. Frankly, no matter how many times it went through my brain, I did not feel anything. No, numbness is another entirely different concept to this vast, dark and solitary place where my heart lies.

The course of Life is such a paradox. Imaginably, as one has said, "In Life, there is Death." This never-ending cycles has continued and it's not going to slow down or stop all for the sake of one individual.

Ironically enough, I sit at my bed in the hospital writing this. I do not know if what I am doing is-was right… All I could thought was never to look back and keep my pace. I still have not found anything. Moreover, I feel like I lost more things than anything. I woke up and found myself in the hospital triple strapped. Later, I learned that this precaution was because of my bandage wrist and raw throat- suicide attempts that (un)fortunately failed. A psychiatrist comes over every now and then to check on my mental health and since that time, with my sanity in tact, there were no visitors. First, it was because of my own dangers. From here on out, it's because I requested none. I feel this enormous need to forget who, where, what, how I am. And with this…I think I could do that, even if it is just a moment. For I know, my hospital door will come crashing down soon after they realize. Now, what in Heaven's name will that be?

Do you know? Have they changed? Are you content and happy? Did the way things were changed? Are you enjoying life now, myself or is someone else reading this letter? Have you found all those things you lost? Or are they plain in sight for you now? Are you still hesitating? Do you feel real? Have you found your place?

I will be in your heart waiting for an answer.

Truthfully you,

Your Past-self.


End file.
